


Trapped

by ShippyWrites



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: idk how to tag trigger warnings plz tell me, no one dies, tw blood, tw self harm, tw self hate, tw suicial thoughts, tw suicide, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24195577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippyWrites/pseuds/ShippyWrites
Summary: Adrien Agreste feels trapped.Even if hes not.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall. real talk i try to keep all my stories rated g except my bnha ones but only cause of language. this however is a complete change from my usual stories. i try to be happy and fluffy and a little angsty in my stories but this is a raw vent fic. ive been depressed for about three years now and writing has always been an escape for me, a way to fix the life and world of someone else. miraculous is basically my home fandom so this is where ive ended up. i was originally going to write this about katsuki cause he is someone i felt could relate, but as i said miraculous is a very safe place for me. im very new to bnha and its just not the best place to put this shit. btw this is a slight dramatization of my feelings. read it or dont its cool either way. idk why im even publishing it. Thanks.

Adrien Agreste didn’t know what to fucking do.

He felt trapped, cornered, stuck in a body he didn’t know or want.

“Why am I like this?” He whispered, curling into a ball on the shower floor. The water was cold now, painfully so, but he made no move to turn it off. It was fine.

With a deep breath he stood up, throwing conditioner in his hair and trying to resist the temptation to pull it out.

Then, he grabbed the shaving foam and a razor, the idea of using it on his wrists crossing his mind more than once.

He shaved aggressively, trying to get it done sooner than later. In his hate and carelessness, he cut his arm, a decent chunk of skin gone. Adrien stopped, staring at it for a few moments.

It burned.

It burned like hell and it hurt more under the water. So he put it under, exposing it completely. Blood was washing down his arm and into the drain. He watched it happen, a glazed look in his eyes.

There was a sick part of him that liked it, that wanted more cuts and more blood to come rushing out of him. The other part, however, demanded he get a grip.

Shaking his head he rinsed his hair once more before shutting the water off and getting out.

He stood in front of the mirror for awhile, not wanting to get dressed. He didn’t want to put clothes on. He didn’t want to fix his hair. He didn’t want to go on.

Slowly but surely he got dressed, wanting to tear each garment apart when he picked them up. 

His arms were shaking as he walked out of the room.

He wanted to punch something.

This was fucking hell in his head, he figured he must’ve died a long time ago to be how he was now. 

His arm was still bleeding as he sat on the bed, hair a tangled mess. His elbows rested on his knees as he sat quietly.

“Why am I not fucking dead.”

It was an everyday question, a constant wonder. What if he just fucking did it? What if he just fucking died? 

He stared at the manga collection across the room, his eyes softening as he thought of the characters. 

Then came the whispers.

“Deku would never be your friend, dumbass.”

“No one likes you.”

“If Kirishima was real, he’d hate you.”

“Fuck off and die.”

“Your actual friends fuckin despise you, you’re despicable in every universe.”

He threw his hands over his ears, biting his lip as he leaned forward. The voices never stopped, sometimes they just got louder. He wanted to end them.

“Let me fucking die. Please. Please.”

Who was he asking? Who would save him from himself?

Blood was still pouring from his wound as he sat there, unwilling to fix it.

He got up, going to a punching bag in the room and hitting it as hard as he could. He kept going and going until his knuckles were raw and bloody.

He got the satisfaction again.

He wanted to see his body suffer. He hated it. He hated seeing it in the mirror. He hated seeing pictures of himself. He wished he could be released from the body he had to call his own.

Pleased, he laid down on the bed, feeling his eyes droop. The sleepiness would start to overtake him, but he has no peace. He forced his eyes open, and slowly he began to scratch his wrist. It was normal at first, fixing an itch. 

Then it wasn’t.

He began to scratch his palm, a sharp pain occurring from the actions. It was between a stinging and burning sensation.

He liked it.

His hand was turning red, his short but sharp nails doing nice damage. As he finally drifted off, his hands still hurt, and he didn’t mind.

Killing himself has always been an idea, but he was always too scared to. He would never be able to do it. But he could still think about it.

“I hope I don’t wake up tomorrow.”

He whispered, as he did every night.

And as he did every morning, he got up.

**Author's Note:**

> it was short and stupid but i felt better after writing it
> 
> If yall ever feel upset like this please seek the proper help. i have never done it, but please do as i say not as i do.
> 
> i hope you have a great day


End file.
